Peak 2: Ilinizas Norte

There's this thing called collective memory. Heard of it? It means that we remember different things when we function as a set group of people.  For example, when we travel as a family, my dad makes sure that the gas tank is full.  He knows the roads to drive.  The rest of us don't even worry about it, because it doesn't belong in our collective memory bank.  If I were driving alone, of course I would consider these things, but that is just what I mean in speaking of collective memory.

We were on the slopes of Illinizas Norte (Summit at 5100m! Woot!), finding our way down an almost invisible rocky path that our guides could see with their trained eyes.  It made me think of collective memory.  I only needed to concentrate on putting one foot or hand in front of the other.  I didn't worry about which way to go, because in this group, the guides know the safety procedures, the routes, the alternate routes and well, everything.  So in between taking a few steps (with a great amount of adrenaline and concentration in order to avoid a misstep into the 1000m drop sloping below me) and gasping for breath, I could try to enjoy the scenery.  Let me tell you, it was amazing!

The entire day was sunny and clear.  The imposing and snow-capped Cotopaxi sat majestically watching our climb from the wee hours of the morning until the later afternoon.  As we ascended we could see all the Andean snowcaps and major peaks in the area--totally indescribable!  We were climbing the northern peak of our  mountain, and constantly had in view its taller and snowier southern twin.  Funny how even a mountain looks distant and small as you stand at its base, but then you become intimately acquainted with all the plants, rocks, smells, colors and idiosyncracies as you trudge on.  Then you are suddenly at the top, which was once a distant speck.  At that moment it seems even a bigger feat than before, because your perspective has flipped.  You are now the tiny speck that understands the sheer rugged mass beneath you and the expanse around you, whereas before you were life-size and the mountain was just a form on the horizon.

But I also had another thought on the mountain, related to collective memory.  God and I, we live life together.  Now, if I really understood our relationship and trusted him, then I would never even let worry cross my mind.  He's the guide that shows me my way, and I can concentrate on enjoying Him and all he's made.  He's the driver that planned the road.  Seriously, think about the things that you don't have to remember because your spouse or your parents or siblings take care of them when you are together.  Maybe you don't ever think about where you parked the car in the parking lot, because that's your spouse's part of collective memory.

Now, think of all God is and all he has promised to his children.  Rest in that, and enjoy the view he's given--whether you're gasping for air on the difficult journey up the slope or skiing through the sand on the way down!

Peak 1: Ruco Pichincha

What began as an exercise to just get used to high altitudes ended up being an adventure.  Of course. 

This morning Toni, Dad and I rode the Teleférico (cable car) to about 4000 meters, and then began hiking.  We walked with a family of three that had ridden in the cable car with us.  It was nice to have a stream of friendly conversation as we plodded along the path upward.  We frequently stopped to catch our breath and enjoy the panorama of the mountains.  You can see all of Quito from there, spread out in the valley at least 50km from North to South.

Soon the long wavy bushes and muddy path gave way to heartier shrubs and a narrower rock path.  When we hit that rocky part, the family we were with just wanted to point out the way for us, but then decided to turn back.  As we bid them goodbye we met up with Jordy, a Catalan who had arrived in Ecuador a few days ago.  His plan was to hike a bit and turn back.  Little did he know the power of group encouragement!

We continued and passed a group on the way down from the summit.  They gave us an estimate of how much we had left to go, because by now we had decided that we would make it to the top.  A steep sandy patch and then some rocky clambering welcomed us to the top along with fog settling in.  Jordy was tempted to turn back after the sandy incline (as well as before it, we had already said goodbye to him), but faced with the prospect of descending alone or continuing with us, he gave in.  At the top (at 4,696 meters) we ate pizza and tostada before heading back down. 

We had just begun to wonder where the path down through the rocks went when it began to hail...hard.  Suddenly the slopes were white and hailstones were running their merry way down the mountain.  Rocks became slippery and hidden, and after pushing aside some panic, we continued slowly downward as our fingers lost all feeling.  It was difficult to know whether you really were holding onto a rock or not.  A group below us had turned back just short of the top when the hail hit, so we gladly followed their tracks, almost skiing through sandy mounds of hail as the sky thundered around us.  We began to weave our way down the mountain with the group.

The same path we had come up the side of the mountain was now snow-covered and more slippery.  The fog began to lift more and we suddenly saw the Quito valley below us, sunny and untouched by our weather dilemmas.  After we left the rocky zone and entered the short bushes, our adrenaline levels returned to normal and elation set in.  We ran down the inclines and sloshed our way in the mud. The sky cleared as we lowered the bottom, and Ruco stood above us, unperturbed by the elements that made our way so hazardous.  The crater of Guagua Pichincha also peaked out over the mass of Padre Encantado (Enchanted Father), in full snowy regalia. 

At the Teleférico café the sun, a heater, and some nice hot chocolate warmed our bones.  We laughed at our experiences and felt cold toes as we rode the cable car back down to the sunny city.  It turns out we have more sisu in us than we thought!  Note to self: next time take gloves!

Piojito, piojito

Meli checking her sister Susanna for lice.

Jungla jungla

This is just a quick greeting from my little Shell. The mountains are beautifully blue in the distance and the afternoon sun is friendly.

We got back from the jungle the other day, and we had quite the adventure.  It's amazing that now we can drive almost all the way to the jungle village where my parents work!  I say almost, because the final two kilometers of "road" are actually mud, and this time we didn't make it through to Kumay, our destination.  We stopped in a village called Chapintza to change the tyres on the car, from the regular ones to double tyres with chains!  On such a road, this is a necessary precaution.  But the front inner tires got flat, and on the third mud hole where we got stuck the winch broke.  We were good and stuck, and unloading the 670 kg of cargo didn't help.  Then, to top that, we got word that one of the village pastor's sons had suddenly died, so the pastor and the other villagers who had been helping us left to see what had happened.  It was getting dark, and then it started to rain.  We closed up the car and hefted what we could onto our backs and hiked through the downpour and mud to Kumay, where we at least knew that we could get dry and and have some tea. And hey, we were together! :) 

That was just the introduction to our adventures, but we had a great time.  We held a special event for about 130 kids from five different villages on Saturday and then walked back out on Sunday.  We also got the car unstuck the next day and just let it wait for us in Chapintza.  And, the pastor's son hadn't died, he had taken a jungle drug that had made him black out.  So, thankfully, all is well, and we have adventured our hearts out in this wild patch of earth that is very humid and very hot!  

A Surprise

Do we look like a sitcom?

We made a stop on our journey to Ecuador to surprise a childhood friend!  We all grew up together in Shell: Toni, Steven, Stephanie, and Yours truly.  We had a few very special days together and look forward to where in the world we may meet up next!

The Andes

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
   where does my help come from?
My help comes from the LORD,
   the Maker of heaven and earth.
Ps. 121:1-2

I sit here on a familiar sofa staring out a picture window at a long-lost view: the rugged Andes mountains hemmed at their base by a crowded city nestled in a long valley.  I love watching the changing clouds and weather.  A day that begins with bright sunshine and blue skies can suddenly offer a hailstorm and end with a flourish of pink sunset behind gray clouds, as was the case two days ago.

I wish I could explain even to myself why coming to a place so dear and familiar also feels painful.  Is it that suddenly the landscape of my heart is in sync with what I see around me, but I know it won't last?  Or perhaps there are memories to be rekindled and dealt with.  Maybe it's just weird because I am back in a place that cradled and raised me before sending me off into the world; it has remained the same (to a degree), but I have changed.  We must take each other's measurements anew, me and this country of mine.

One thing that doesn't change--the mountains.  They speak to me of majesty and the untouchable wildness present in this creation.  They draw my thoughts to the Creator and make explosions of color and joy go off in the wordless realms of my mind.

Your love, LORD, reaches to the heavens,
   your faithfulness to the skies.
Your righteousness is like the highest mountains,
   your justice like the great deep.
   You, LORD, preserve both people and animals.
How priceless is your unfailing love, O God!
   People take refuge in the shadow of your wings.
Ps. 36:5-7